


songs we left unsung

by kalachuchi



Series: roads returning to the sea [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 12:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19394128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalachuchi/pseuds/kalachuchi
Summary: The facts are as follows:1. Seokmin's weekly radio show is building an audience - he's even got an anonymous caller who phones in every show, these days.2. When he isn't secretly tuning in to Seokmin's radio show, Minghao is trying to write a love song.3. Neither of them are very good at saying what they mean.





	songs we left unsung

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earthshaker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/gifts).



> \- happy birthday, dia ♡ i said this the last time but it's still true: this is for you!  
> \- can be read as a standalone, but if you're reading as a series, this slides into the timeline a year or so after _love is not an abstract belief_. from minghao's pov this time.  
> \- the song referenced during seokmin's radio that he hums along to is [fall in love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IKPDLjB1qTE), one of minghao's collab stages with victor during chao yin zhan ji.

**TRACK 1. MATTERS OF THE HEART**

_Hey, tell me something_

Having learned his heart before he thought to name it, it seems fitting Minghao only starts writing the song once he starts losing sleep over it. The nature of his love a sequential thing: cause and effect, par for the course. Where lightning strikes, thunder is sure to follow. But if love is lightning, a light beautiful enough to pierce, the realisation can only mean thunder, a music that moves, rearranges the chambers of the heart.

_I have looked into your heart,_ Junhui told him, years ago. _It said please return during regular business hours._

The memory tugs at Minghao, stills his hand and his pen. What, for people like them, constitutes regular business hours? Day shifts, the routine nine to five? Minghao’s business hours bleed into all his waking hours and then some. It’s no wonder he’s always falling in love during the in-betweens, a love lived in liminal spaces. 

_(Hey, tell me something)_

In the car, on the way to the studio. The breath between press shots at the airport, barely enough time to blink. His hand against Seokmin’s cheek, Seokmin’s breath warm from a night out. _Sleep well, Seokmin._

See, the problem was never about Minghao not knowing what he wants. He’s always known what he wants, even before he imagined acting on that same desire. _It’s good to know what you want,_ chimed in unison with Mingyu more often than he can count. Junhui sticking out his tongue at them: _Same same again? Jinx!_

Jinx, indeed. The problem, as it stands, lies instead in Minghao’s inability to act on what he wants, left only to imagine. Desire translated into yearning as it crosses the border from dreaming to wakefulness. There are cuts that sting only after realisation of the fact. 

Minghao’s hand moving from pen to speaker, radio station pre-set in advance. Seokmin’s name flashing as the radio show changes over. A love like lightning. Where lightning strikes, thunder is sure to follow. 

And lightning, after all, never strikes twice.

**TRACK 2. NIGHT RADIO INTERLUDE**

(TIMESTAMP: 47:34)

ANONYMOUS CALLER:

…I just don’t know. Sometimes the dream

itself is enough. Sometimes it feels so far

away it hurts. How do you live for your

dreams? It’s so hard to imagine wanting

anything else if I stopped. Sorry. I think I

made things too serious.

SEOKMIN:

Don’t feel sorry! I think it’s good to have

a dream. But a dream can be really hard

work, too. Still, I think…

[CUE: PIANO, FILTER IN GRADUALLY]

SEOKMIN:

I think hard work is the only way to live. I 

believe that – I really believe that. But it’s not 

the only thing to live for, I think. You can live 

to laugh, you can live to love. I think it’s good

to try everything at least once! Live a lot and 

laugh a lot and love always. Fighting–I’m always

cheering for you all!

(TIMESTAMP: 56:12)

SEOKMIN:

Until next time, a song I’ve been listening to

a lot lately…I heard it from a friend, but how 

about you guys? Let me know what you think

about it next time, okay?

[CUE: FALL IN LOVE - LIVE VERSION]

SEOKMIN:

_Wishing that you will be treated with honesty_

_and sincerity by the world, I will treat you with_

_tenderness too_

SEOKMIN:

_You are the one, you are the one… I say, I say_

[FADES OUT]

_TRANSCRIPT ENDS_

**TRACK 3. A DANCE FOR TWO**

Seokmin’s humming as he walks into the practice room. Minghao hears him before he sees him, but he thinks he’d be able to recognise Seokmin anywhere, now. Singing or speaking, by voice alone – just. _Seokmin._

And then Seokmin sees Minghao.

“Ah, Myungho.” Seokmin stops, rambling: “I didn’t hear anyone else, so I thought I’d use the practice room for a bit. But it’s okay, you were first, I can…”

“Don’t apologise.”

Startled, Seokmin pauses. Minghao does too, tucking his notebook away before he continues.

“Please don’t apologise,” Minghao repeats. “I’m the one hiding away in here. I’m not actually practicing anything. But it is a practice room, so. If you want, it’s yours.”

“ _Oh_ -kay,” Seokmin says. Then he grins.

“What _were_ you doing then, if you weren’t practicing?”

_(–Is there something you love?)_

Minghao pales. 

Latching on, Seokmin clears his throat, _A-hem!_

Then, deliberately theatrical, says, “Now now, what could be going on here? Our resident hard worker, Seo Myungho, not practicing in the practice room? Or could it be…”

Seokmin takes a breath, probably for dramatic effect, but Minghao has never been known for his sense of humour.

“It could not,” he hedges. 

Seokmin, louder: “…the rise of Seo Myungho, our hidden vocal?”

“It is _definitely_ not,” Minghao laughs. Seokmin smiles, shrugging, and Minghao takes the hand Seokmin offers him, lets Seokmin pull him up.

“You don’t know that,” Seokmin says. “But you are working hard. I do hear you, you know – walls are still pretty thin around here.”

Quietly pleased, Minghao swallows back a grin and nods. 

Seokmin is still holding on to his hand.

“Must be the echo. It’s the stairwell, you know? But what can you do – acoustics, you know.”

“I do know,” Seokmin replies, serious. “The bathroom’s pretty good, too.”

“Yes. Junnie thinks it’s pretty good in there.”

“Ah.” Seokmin beams. “Jun-hyung can keep it! I’ll take the free show, you’ll be calling me your number one listener soon.”

Minghao knows Seokmin means it, means it the way Seokmin always means what he says, even if only in the heart of what he says, the echo of what he means. 

_Hey, tell me something_

_Is there something you love?_

The grin Minghao tried to hide catches in his throat, grows voice and threatens to sing, fast and frenzied like his heart. Like thunder, too loud in his chest. Seokmin must notice, because he frowns. His hold on Minghao’s hand is so, so gentle. It wraps around Minghao’s heart, a ring of fire.

“Myungho?” Then, soft and slow, a knock on the door, calling his name: “Hey, Minghao, are you okay?”

In Minghao’s mind, the melody of Seokmin’s voice two nights before plays back, hazy and worn from constant recollection: _Until next time, a song I’ve been listening to a lot lately…_

“I’ll be cheering you on,” Minghao says. Needs to say, though he knows Seokmin won’t hear it the way the way Minghao means. Minghao thinks of Seokmin, singing words Minghao penned so many months ago but never told Seokmin directly. _So what_ , he thinks, if Seokmin won’t know. He’ll still hear it.

“Sure,” Seokmin accepts. “I’ll always cheer for you too, superstar.”

In Minghao’s heart is light, unceasing. He grips Seokmin’s hand before he steps in. And like a door opening in answer, Seokmin lets him.

The music catches them both by surprise.

“Oh,” Minghao whispers. “Sorry, that’s mine. My phone. For how long I have the practice room booked.”

“Sure, don’t worry about it. Why are we whispering?”

Minghao makes a sound, choked. Seokmin lets go of him to pat at his back, confused but earnest.

“Let me…” Minghao steps back, reaches for his phone to shut off the alarm. 

Suddenly remembering, he adds, “So, my time’s up. For the room. I guess it’s really yours now, legally.”

“Yes. I know the law.” Seokmin’s laughing, though. “Stay anyway? If you want, you don’t have to do anything…”

“Sure,” Minghao answers. 

“Okay,” Seokmin says. “Okay! I’ll put some music on…”

Minghao smiles when the opening beats to a remix of _Highlight_ filters in through the speakers. Back still turned from Minghao, Seokmin explains, “ _Highlight_ makes me feel like I’m dancing inside, a bit. Plus, you know. We have a concert in eight weeks and I have a score to settle.”

“First blooper of the tour,” Minghao counters, “is an honour. You’ll go down in the history of _Going Seventeen_ forever.”

Seokmin’s heading back to him, wagging a finger at Minghao but he’s still smiling.

“I see how it is! Dance on your own then!”

Minghao meets him halfway, falling into step with Seokmin as they turn into the pre-chorus together.

“Nah,” Minghao says between beats. “I’d rather dance with you.”

**TRACK 4. WANT, WAIT**

In Minghao’s dreams there is a house by the sea, a lover and a dog. A sunset, painting fire across the ocean’s horizon. Minghao dreams of many things. He loves like he’ll always have all the time in the world.

_(If what you love is–)_

In Minghao’s dreams, there is a song.

In Minghao’s life, there are things anyone can see. Minghao, waved in by the broadcasting staff with a cursory check for his guest pass. The shift in Seokmin’s expression when he notices Minghao by the door, the gradient of Seokmin’s focus sliding from microphone to Minghao. 

There are dark circles under Minghao’s eyes he doesn’t need a mirror to feel, evidence as damning as Minghao’s increasing skill at concealing them without assistance from any stylist. He doesn’t bother hiding anything today, can’t even feel them weigh him down as he keeps his eyes on Seokmin. Minghao only really dropped by on the way to one of his own schedules, coffee in hand he’d intercepted from their manager to deliver himself, instead.

Watches Seokmin’s eyes curve at an audience question, half-moons meaning he’s comfortable, meaning Minghao’s content to see it despite the urgency of his own schedule. 

Happiness felt secondhand is still a happiness felt. Minghao lets it lift him up, allows the feeling to rise in degrees with every inhale, a time lapse photograph: Love, to living without. Seokmin throws a peace sign his way as he makes his way out of the studio, holding back a laugh when Minghao forms a heart with his hands at the door. _Love_. The abrupt chill of his hands in the hallway after, drink delivered and only then realising he forgot to buy something warm for himself. _Living without._

_If what you love is_

_What you won’t live without_

In Minghao’s life, there are moments Minghao lives for himself to see. For once the viewer and not the person viewed. He leans back against a bike rack, tugs his mask up higher. The wind bites, but people are still crowded in front of the windows, peering into the broadcasting setup. Viewable radio, seen from a window and heard through the phone. Clear boundaries, a safe distance. 

This time, Minghao hears the audience before he hears Seokmin. Turns the other way and starts walking once he hears Seokmin’s voice, filtered through earphones but as familiar to Minghao as his own hand. He doesn’t look back in case Seokmin noticed him. 

It’s easier, believing Seokmin wouldn’t recognise him if he followed Minghao’s every step down the road, around the corner.

Boundaries are most visible when viewed safely, from far away.

**TRACK 5. FOR YOU, TO YOU**

Tuesday night post-tour, recalled from the night’s end to the night’s beginning: 

[01:15] Jun: _i kicked everyone out of your room, nobody’s gonna see, i’ll even close my eyes on the way home okay_

At a bar he downs six drinks, staggered into what Minghao will retrospectively label _Before_ and _After._

Broad shoulders, button up shirt. A man who meets Minghao’s eyes once they panned up from his dress shoes. He thinks, sudden and unbidden, of a similar pair perched neatly above a growing mountain of shoes at the foot of an apartment. Minghao looks away, signals the bartender for a shot. 

A margarita, citrusy sweet and tickling a path down the line of his throat as he chugs it down without any of the salt. The tang of it coats his tongue, less of a burn than the way straight tequila singes the mouth. Minghao chokes on it anyway, stumbling away from the bar to the bathroom. 

The mirror’s glass is smudged, the look on Minghao’s face changed every time he looks up. 

Minghao’s eyes rimmed red like he’s just cried, or like he’s about to throw himself into a fight. He scrubs at his face, glances up again. The curve of his jaw hazy and indistinct. If he blinks he almost imagines depth into the bathroom’s beige walls, skin where there should be plaster. A reflection of body shots offered but not accepted from a back room of the club, _Yes I think you’re beautiful, No it’s not beauty I’m wanting._ He feels wrung out, he can’t stop coughing. Like if he just keeps going long enough he’ll unwind from his hands to his heart. What he wants is not a want but a need–

Fishing his phone from his pocket, Minghao swipes out of his last conversation (Seokmin: _did laundry found chapstick in your pants haha_ ) and hits _Call_ instead. Listens to it ring long enough for almost an entire ringtone to play out before the call goes through.

“…Minghao?”

The lightbulb flickers. The mirror feels cool on Minghao’s skin when he rests his cheek on it. Words scratch their way out his throat as he says them.

“Gē, I feel fucked up. I’m pretty sure I _did_ fuck up–.”

“Oh, Haohao.” Over the line, Junhui’s voice is quiet but firm. “Send me your location.”

_Tell me, what is it_

_What is it your heart can’t give up on_

The bus back to their hotel is big enough to seat thirteen and then some. Still in leader’s mindset, Seungcheol chirps “One!” as he hops in. “Two,” Jeonghan follows suit, Joshua close behind. “Three.” 

SEVENTEEN: a machine well-oiled, well maintained. 

Mingyu slides in after Minghao and slouches forward without being asked, saving Minghao from glancing back at Seokmin at every traffic light, silhouette limned in red and green light. Boundaries are safest when viewed from a distance. 

At the centre of a crossroad between what is desired and what is allowed, Minghao draws a line. 

Mingyu’s hand on his leg, grounding, immediately present. Jeonghan twisting something Chan said on its head, lead-up into a punchline. Seokmin’s laugh, a spot of sun in the night, Minghao’s body attuned to it like a sunflower to the sun.

The pause between Seokmin's laugh and response just pronounced enough that Minghao's heart stutters, a door halfway opened clicking abruptly shut.

“–What do you think, Myungho-ya?”

In Minghao’s heart, he traces his fingers over the threshold of a limit, beyond the territory of what is safely permissible.

He doesn’t cross it.

_To_ DOKYEOM:

I’ve been listening every week, thanks for 

all your hard work! …It must be hard for

you at times, right? I hope you keep warm,

keep working hard. I’m always happy when

I’m listening to you. If it’s possible, my wish

is for you to feel happy always–

_– Anonymous (Rolling Paper Corner)_

Encore after encore is over. An entire arena thunderingly loud when the curtains close. Seokmin’s still curled around him, bright enough Minghao never stood a chance at doing anything but drinking him in. And he does, he does. Minghao, drunk enough on the moment to forget, or to pretend he can forget. 

His lips against Seokmin’s temple, long enough it couldn’t be anything but a kiss. Light enough the kiss could only feel fleeting at best. Seokmin turns to look at him, eyes wide in the dark.

Minghao slips from under Seokmin’s arms and steps back, back, back.

A feather of a bird, already flown away. 

**TRACK 6. THE WAY HOME IS**

Seokmin flies out for filming the weekend before they all move into a new building. A variety show, straightforward and easy publicity. Manager-hyung flies out with him, too, so Seokmin doesn’t bother asking for a set of the new keys in advance.

_I’d give you my key,_ Minghao doesn’t tell him before he goes, _but I’m not sure anymore which door it opens to call home._

“I’m not going to say it,” Mingyu says, face turned to the river. “Mostly because you get pissy when I say _I told you so_. So. I’m not going to say it.”

“…Of course. You went and said it anyway.”

“But I did try.” Mingyu smiles, though it’s not audible in his voice.

Swatting at Mingyu’s shoulder, Minghao says, “Shut up.”

Sunday morning, early spring. The sun, high in the sky and blinding where it spills out across the water. Minghao should have brought a hat but didn’t and tugs at his sleeves, resenting his jacket for a lack of hood to cover his eyes. Mingyu hums and adjusts his sunglasses.

The thing about Mingyu is he never engages in any conversation he doesn’t feel fully dressed for.

The thing about Mingyu is he sees full well what Minghao means before Minghao can deflect it away, thereby tugging away the figurative curtains of Minghao’s heart, leaving only an open window.

The simplest thing in the world is to match wavelengths with someone you see right through.

“Look, Hao. I know you can wait. You’re good at it – you’re already, like, _stubbornly_ patient about sensible things.”

“Compensation,” Minghao adds primly, “for being patiently stubborn about impossible things.”

“Impossible.” Mingyu air-quotes. “Is that what we’re calling it now.”

Minghao eyes him warily. “You never go to the movies with me for anything even close to romance. If you lecture me about my love life I’m stealing your watch.”

“Go ahead. You only bought it so you could borrow it when you wanted anyway.”

“I’m stubborn. I’m patient. I’m sensible. It’s called foresight,” Minghao says. Words like pebbles thrown at water, small enough to skip across the surface.

“I just want to see you happy.” The sentence sinks Minghao’s heart, stones at the bottom of the sea.

Minghao, voice small: “I’m happy enough.”

“Nothing is _ever_ enough for you. That’s what makes you happy dreaming of impossible things.”

“You never answered,” Minghao reminds Mingyu, “if this was one of them. An impossible thing.”

Mingyu tugs off his sunglasses, at last turning to face Minghao.

“Xu Minghao, you dream of impossible things, but there’s only one thing you’ve ever truly, desperately wanted. Because you’re an idiot, and a romantic. You’re my best friend. I’m inviting myself to your wedding no matter who it’s with. You know that.”

“Mingyu – don’t. _Don’t._ ” Minghao’s voice cracks. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had someone I couldn’t let go of, like this.”

Mingyu agrees easily. “Yeah. You’re on the real scenic route to a happy ending, dude. Journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step. You’re on, like, step number fourteen. At _best.”_

“Where,” Minghao sighs, “did you even get that proverb.”

“Jun-hyung,” Mingyu says immediately.

“…Why don’t I believe you.”

Mingyu cackles, “You’re right, he wouldn’t tell you that ever. But I think you’d look less annoyed about it if he said it instead of me.”

“Mingyu,” Minghao interrupts. “I’ve gone and stuck you in the middle again, huh.”

“Eh. I don’t kiss and tell. Secret-keep and spill. I’ve got a good head, I can see my way out of just about anything.”

“Can you really,” Minghao deadpans, amused now.  


“Sure. I’m pretty sure you noticed, Hao, but I’m pretty tall.”

(TIMESTAMP: 17:54)

SEOKMIN:

One day, someday, your dreams come

true. It sounds nice, doesn’t it? Like a

promise. Everyone, I can’t promise you

that it’s true, but I can promise I’ll wait

right beside you until that day. Or after!

Seokmin comes back not long after Minghao does. He must’ve gotten a key somehow anyway, because when the door opens Seokmin is alone. Seokmin’s mouth opens but doesn’t say anything, so Minghao does.

“…Hey. Welcome back.”

“Thanks,” Seokmin says, surprise on his face but not from his body when Minghao offers to roll his luggage into Seokmin’s room. Both of them have always been better at acting out what they mean. Minghao shrugs. The apartment lapses into something quiet. Unsaid. Minghao breathes in.

“Myungho,” Seokmin begins. “About–”

At the same time, Minghao says, “Airport.”

“What?”

“No, it’s nothing. Just.” Minghao shrugs. “You just came back from schedules, right? But you don’t smell like airport… That came out weird, but…”

“No, I get it. I borrowed someone’s shampoo before leaving. I can’t even remember whose, honestly. But you’d know, right? You’d know.”

Minghao knows. “Yeah. That it was ours. From here.”

Quiet, again. There’s a faint smile on Seokmin’s face, like there’s something on his mind he isn’t saying. There usually is. Today, though, Minghao feels that not knowing and realises, even if it’s just for now, just in this moment, that he doesn’t really mind.

(TIMESTAMP: 1:29:05)

ANONYMOUS CALLER:

The only way out of waiting is to wait

more. It’s a saying, I think. The feeling

of it. The only way out of waiting is to

wait more. The only remedy for love is 

to love more.

**TRACK 7. FEELS LIKE THIS**

The facts are as follows, in order of increasing importance:

_1._

A year ago, Minghao held Seokmin in his arms during pre-recording for Music Bank. Comeback promotions are always two steps too loud, just the wrong side of chaotic, but Minghao was tucked closely enough against for him to hear it. Seokmin mumbling Soonyoung’s name, just once, in his sleep.

Mouth moving on autopilot, Minghao answers instead.

“Hyung’s back with tteokbokki. You can sleep more, though.”

Seokmin is quiet. It’s too loud to for him to hear Seokmin’s heart, even as close as they are. He thinks Seokmin took him at his word before he hears, quiet and sleep-heavy:

“You.”

Then Seokmin says, “Wanna eat?”

Minghao swallows, mouth dry. His hand, without permission, drift up to card through Seokmin’s hair. Seokmin leans into the touch, trying to stay awake. Minghao’s hand shakes when he pulls away.

But in Minghao’s chest he’s calm, heart beating steadily against his ribs. An ocean, current unyielding where it lies in the heart of a storm.

To himself, but also in response to Seokmin, barely awake: “I can wait."

_2._

A kiss at the end of a tour, Minghao’s mouth against Seokmin’s skin. Not even a hand’s breadth of distance to Seokmin’s mouth. It is often the smallest distances that are felt most deeply. 

He thinks of the two of them alone in a practice room, dancing in time but not together, not in the way that matters, or the way Minghao wanted it to matter. The ghost of someone else’s name, as impossible to touch as Seokmin’s heart, the kind of love spoken into solidness, something real.

The heart is a four-chambered house. Love, once free, is a bird singing to someone else across a two-way street.

Minghao is not a coward. But he’s willing to concede that, when it comes to Seokmin, he is afraid.

_3._

At the back of Minghao’s closet is a hoodie he doesn’t wear anymore. In its pocket is a sheet of paper, lyrics scrawled in ink that bled through to the other side of the page.

_Give up on something you love?_

_No, Tell me_

_Something you can’t live without_

_[...]_

_Now live without it_

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
